


close your eyes (count to ten)

by The_Wavesinger



Category: Black Panther (2018), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/F, Female Erik Killmonger, Female Tony Stark, Guns, Humiliation, Light Dom/sub, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 10:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19721653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wavesinger/pseuds/The_Wavesinger
Summary: Toni Stark is very drunk; she encounters a waitress and propositions her.





	close your eyes (count to ten)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madeinessos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeinessos/gifts).



> Title is from Skyfall.
> 
> Also contains some faceslapping, though not enough to tag for it.
> 
> (This fic is pure filthy femslash porn. I hope you didn't mind me combining several of your requested tags together, madeinessos, and I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it.)

Toni is drunk. Or at least very very buzzed, she decides, leaning against the balcony railing. The wind is blowing right into her face. It’s nice. Or it will be nice until someone tracks her down, drags her back into the party she most decidedly doesn’t want to be at.

“Ma’am?”

Oh, speak of the fucking devil.

But it’s not one of the annoying hangers-on she’s gotten used to expecting. Instead, a tray consisting of a variety of alcohols is shoved under her nose. “Do you want a drink, ma’am?”

It’s a waitress, Toni realizes. And a gorgeous waitress at that, beautiful eyes and dark skin and dreadlocks swept into some complicated twist, her pants just the side of too tight and clinging nicly to her legs.

“Ma’am,” the waitress repeats. “Would you like a drink?”

“I’d like to drink you,” Toni blurts out without thinking. Then, realizing Pepper would smack her if she was there, “Sorry. I—some wine. White, something dry.” Because hard liquor’s out of the question now, but she still really needs some liquid courage before she goes back into the lions’ den. For good measure, she adds, “Again, I’m so sorry.”

The waitress smiles, a flash of brilliant white ( _pointed_? No, surely Toni is seeing things) teeth. “I’d like to drink you too, Ms. Stark. But if you prefer wine I have that too.”

“Wine’s good,” Toni says automatically. But as the waitress presses the wine glass into her hand and turns, she shakes herself. Pulls out her most charming smile. “And you too, if you’re willing.” No, bad, some far-away corner of Toni’s mind thinks, but she ignores it. She’s had practice ignoring it. Instead, she down the wine glass (terrible third-rate wine, really these functions are going downhill) in one gulp.

That seems to be enough for the waitress, because she steps closer and plucks the wine glass deftly out of Toni’s hand. A smooth motion that shows off her gorgeous ass, and the entire tray is on the ground and the waitress is kissing her.

The kiss is—maybe it’s the drinks Toni downed, but the kiss is the best damn kiss she’s every had in her own life, the waitress pressing her against the railing of the balcony and holding her there as she works magic with her lips and tongue. Lips and tongue and a little bit of saliva, and Toni can’t even think to reciprocate. She does try, a few times, feebly. But the waitress growls and nips at her mouth until she stops moving and allows her to explore to her heart’s content.

They’re both panting when the waitress finally breaks the kiss. At which thought Toni realizes that the waitress must have a name.

There’s a convenient name tag pinned to her blouse, resting on the swell of her (gorgeously full, perfectly curved) breast. “Erika,” Toni sounds out. “Erika. That’s a nice name,”

“It is, isn’t it.” The waitress—Erika—flashes her a dangerous grin. “And as nice as that dress looks on you, don’t you think it’s time you showed me a little skin?”

Toni raises an eyebrow. “Want me to strip off right here?”

She’s mostly joking (her pussy is suddenly tight and throbbing, but that’s neither here nor there), but there’s a sudden glint in Erika’s eyes “Yes, right here.”

The balcony is on the penthouse floor of the building, and the opposite them is a corporate office, its lights dimmed for the night. Still, the blocks around them still have lights shining in windows. If someone looks up or to the side, or walks in on them, it’ll be a scandal for sure. She can’t believe she’s even seriously considering it. Still, “What’s life without a little bit of risk?”

Erika smiles at her, slow and languid. It’s a predator’s smile, a smile that sends shivers down Toni’s spine. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

And one hand deftly, quickly, pulls one of Toni’s tits out of her bodice, the other reaching around to lift up the carefully-designed million-dollar skirts and tuck them into the neckline of the dress.

Sudden cold air wafts over her pussy. Her nipples pebble, but she doesn’t fool herself into thinking it’s only because of the breeze.

And the Erika is _touching_ her.

Her fingers are just as amazing as her mouth. Maybe even more so, because while her mouth is smooth and silken, her fingers are rough and calloused and each ridge and bump sends jolts of pure fire through Toni.

She traces feather-light circles around Toni’s pussy and clit, barely-there touches that set every nerve in her body alight, until Toni is squirming against the balcony, clutching onto the railing for dear life. An occasional scrape of a fingernail is almost enough to get her relief, but it doesn’t linger quite long enough before the maddening touch begins again.

“Look at you,” Erika hisses in her ear, hot breath tickling her sensitive skin. “Just my tiny little finger makes you wet and dripping. Such a dirty whore. I bet you do this every day, pull your tits out and put on a show. Doesn’t matter who’s passing by, does it? Because you’re a slut for this. You’re a slut for me.”

Toni pants at the words, heat creeping up her face. She likes it, likes how Erika isn’t being nice to her, likes how she can barely move with the weight of Erika’s still-clothed body against hers, likes how, when she speaks, a humiliated thrill runs down her spine and brings her just that little bit closer to the edge.

Erika presses her finger into Toni’s pussy for a moment.

The feeling of Erika’s calloused knuckles against her sensitive inner walls is almost enough. She pushes down into Erika’s hand. There, a little more—

Erika twists Toni’s nipple. Hard.

It _hurts_.

It hurts even more when she runs her hand roughly through the dripping wetness of Toni’s pussy and slaps her face, leaving trails of her own wetness behind on her skin. It stings and burns and _tingles_ , a sensation that goes straight to her pussy and makes it throb in time with the pulsing heat from her face.

Erika slaps her again and again and again, dragging her palm across Toni’s pussy at intervals. “You like this, don’t you?” she taunts when Toni arches her back and gasps. “You like being hurt and put in your place, like the slut you are.”

The wetness on her face isn’t just from her pussy anymore. She’s crying, silent tears that slip down her face even as she offers herself up for more, for more pain, for more of Erika’s touch, for _more_.

Then suddenly, Erika’s holding Toni’s face in a vice grip, her finger digging into the soft flesh of Toni’s cheeks. Her other hand hover right above Toni’s clit. She can feel its heat, warm and enticing but not there. She needs _more_. She needs touch.

“Look at you,” Erika whispers. Her face is so, so close to Toni’s. But a warning hand is pressed, briefly, against Toni’s wrist, and Toni doesn’t dare to lean up and kiss her. “Look at you. All dressed up and now you’re letting me ruin your beautiful things. And you know, I’ve seen you on TV, on the Internet. On the arm of someone new every night. I bet you beg so prettily for them.” Her elbow presses lightly on Toni’s throat. A threat and a caution and a message all in one.

“No,” Toni chokes out. “I don’t—I don’t _beg_. Not for them.” Not for the people she courts for money and contracts. That’s _business_.

“But you’ll beg for me, won’t you?”

Erika’s smile is sharp-edged and fierce, and Toni nods. A fraction of moment later, “Please. Please.”

“Tell me you’re a dirty slut.”

Erika’s hand is almost there. Just one touch is going to be enough. “I’m a dirty slut. I’m so filthy, I’m a whore, I bet everyone can see it, see that I need to be fucked and put in my place.” She’s panting with each word, twisting and twisting, surprised even at herself by how easily the words flow, how they slip one after the other out of her mouth.

“Good.” Erika strokes Toni’s face, a light, gentle touch. Her voice is tender when she says, “You should be locked up, shouldn’t you? It’s the only way you’ll control yourself, if I lock up your pussy and throw away the key.”

Erika’s voice reach Toni blurrily, like she’s underwater. She tries to buck up into Erika’s hand, but it doesn’t work. It’s impossible, and Toni wants to howl.

“No,” Erika says sharply. “Be patient.” She removes her hand entirely from the vicinity of Toni’s pussy.

Toni _does_ sob then, a great heaving sob, thrusting her hips into nothing. She tries to reach down, rub herself off, but Erika slaps at her like she’s swatting away an annoying fly.

“I should send pictures of you to all the tabloids, just like this,” she says, tugging at Toni’s hair until sharp spikes of pain shoot through her head. “Such a fucking mess, all because some waitress off the street asked her if she wanted to fuck. That’s all it took for you to become such a mess. I’ll write my story in too. They’ll love it.”

And Toni can imagine the headlines, the scandal. And it’s fucking hot to think of it, people coming to meetings and knowing exactly how she looks like when she’s a ruined wreck in the hands of a perfect stranger. Everyone knowing exactly what she looks like when someone pinches her nipple or touches her clit.

Erika must see her shudder, because her eyes flash and her pupils darken even more in the glittery light of the balcony lamps. “You’d _like_ that, wouldn’t you? It wouldn’t be a punishment for you, because you’re a dirty fucking slut.”

“A dirty fucking slut who wants to come,” Toni grumbles. Because her pussy is _aching_ , her clit is on fire, and Erika won’t go anywhere near them, won’t even let her touch herself. She likes to come, dammit, and she usually tells people who top her exactly that. This lack of orgasms is very, very new.

And it’s frustrating.

It’s frustrating as hell, and Toni can’t stop herself from moving, trying to get Erika to touch her _somehow_.

Then, suddenly, she feels cold metal against her neck.

She that feeling. She knows that feeling intimately, knows it too well. Even before Erika says, in a bored, calm voice, “Don’t scream, don’t move, don’t do anything,” she knows. The betrayal shouldn’t have her flinching backwards (and it’s not even betrayal, how can it be when she doesn’t know Erika) but it does.

“What do you want?” Toni knows she’s panting, she can’t help it, but she hopes her voice is at least otherwise even. Though from Erika’s amused smile she can tell her effort has failed.

“You, honey,” Erika says, and her voice is smooth and gentle again, and Toni really, really would like to scream. “But you’re just a bonus, I’m afraid. My target is the man who’s passing near this balcony right now. He’s going to come running when you scream, exactly where I want him.”

She’s not going to fucking scream. She’s going to get to her suit and punch the shit out of Erika, grind her to a bloody fucking pulp.

Except she can’t. She’s been meddling with a glitch in the suit mechanism and half the functionality of the thing is gone, and her backups are in pieces too with the way she’s been fiddling with them.

Of all the times for this to happen.

Still, “You think I’m going to fucking scream for you?” She tries to wriggle out of Erika’s grip, launches herself forward with elbows at the ready, but Erika is too quick. She just holds her tighter against the fence and presses the barrel down. And Toni’s fucking traitorous pussy throbs.

“Oh you will.”

Erika’s hand shoots down, a quick flash, and suddenly Toni’s clit feels like it’s on fire, a million scorpions stinging it at once, a thousand needles stabbing into it.

She tries not to. But Erika presses down, with whatever she’s doing, and she _howls_.

Running footsteps. A bang, then another, Erika suddenly turning in a blur of movement. The thud of something hitting the floor.

Tony slides to the ground.

There’s a pool of blood spreading around whoever was shot—she can’t see the face from there—and Erika is still standing there, gun pointed at her.

Of all the stupid fucking ways to die.

But then Erika quirks a half-smile at her. “Goodbye,” she says, oddly soft. Then, with a press of her lips against Toni’s forehead, she’s gone.

Toni sits with her pussy and tits out, clit still screaming, her wetness tacky and drying across her face, a dead body next to her, for a second. Then she takes a deep breath and starts to straighten herself out. This isn’t a situation that’ll explain itself easily after all.


End file.
